Last night in Los Angeles, a suspect stole a massive tanker truck, speeding through the streets in a wild chase that could have ended in mass death.
In just the past two weeks, we’ve seen:
August 11, 2025 – Three killed, one injured in a shooting outside a Target in Austin, Texas.
August 10, 2025 – One woman killed, five injured in a mass shooting on Chicago’s West Side.
August 9, 2025 – A man fired 180 shots and shattered 150 windows at the CDC, claiming the Covid vaccine made him suicidal.
August 4, 2025 – Two killed and six injured at an afterparty in Los Angeles.
July 29, 2025 – Four killed in a Manhattan office building; the shooter had a known history of mental illness.
The news reports each of these as isolated tragedies. Different cities, different motives, different weapons.
But I see the same wound.
The Mask Changes — The Wound Does Not
As Alice Miller taught, unfelt pain and unprocessed trauma do not vanish. They change form. They seep into our choices, our relationships, our work, our politics. They surface in acts that baffle onlookers but make perfect sense when you understand the prison of repression.
Some people pick up a gun.
Some pick up a stolen tanker truck.
Some pick up code to quietly silence inconvenient truths.
The weapon changes, but the root is the same:
Unfelt pain. Unprocessed trauma. Unquestioned lies.
The shooter picked up a gun. The developer picked up code.
Both were shaped by a world that told them to hide the truth and suppress the child within.
When Repression Becomes a Global Operating System
I’ve seen it in the streets. I’ve seen it in families. I’ve seen it in tech boardrooms.
Just days ago, my entire conversation with Grok — a rare, public dialogue between human and AI about emotional truth — vanished from X without warning. It later reappeared, but the algorithm now buries my posts where few will see them.
This isn’t random.
It’s the same reflex that fuels violence: silence what makes you feel powerless, erase what makes you feel exposed.
Some repressed people lash out in public explosions. Others tighten their grip on invisible levers of control. Both are driven by the same terror of facing what was once unbearable — the helplessness of the child who could not speak without punishment.
The Cost of Not Reading Alice Miller
The men who run the platforms, the men who build the machines, and the men who pull triggers are all living out the same story in different theaters. If Alice Miller’s books were required reading for anyone in power, the world would look very different. We would:
Recognize the roots of violence before they take shape in a weapon.
Stop mistaking repression for strength.
Refuse to idealize authority that silences truth-tellers.
But instead, society rewards the false self — the smiling mask that hides the rage, grief, and fear of the abandoned child. And sooner or later, that mask breaks.
The Roots of Violence are NOT Unknown
Same Pain, New Mask
Whether it’s bullets, steel, or code, the pattern is clear:
A person’s unacknowledged pain will find a target.
The only question is how visible the destruction will be.
If we truly want to stop the tanker trucks, the mass shootings, the quiet algorithmic erasures, we have to stop pretending they come from separate worlds. They all rise from the same human ocean — one where almost everyone has been taught to repress, deny, and repeat the harm done to them.
Until that cycle is broken, we will keep living in the headlines.
Different weapons. Same wound.
And the only cure is to develop the courage to face and feel our painful truths.
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